by Diane Capri
Jordan hadn’t asked too many questions about the whole setup because really, she’d said yes for Claire. Jordan would do anything for Claire. Even agree to a blind date in a bar, apparently.
Claire had been so sad for way too long. This was the first time she’d wanted to go anywhere or do anything since her boyfriend, Salvador Caster, the CEO of Caster Shrimp Company, was arrested and shipped out of town somewhere for federal witness protection.
Theresa shook her head. “The one with the girl is a little preppy for my taste. He’s cute, but obviously taken.” She wiggled a little to get comfortable on the stool. “I don’t know those other guys. I just wanted to get through and order the tequila.”
Jordan didn’t want to be interested in Tom. But she didn’t want to seem ungrateful for Theresa’s friendship either.
When Jordan’s dad was suspected of murdering her mother five years ago, so-called friends had disappeared like rice pouring out of a hole in the bag. Only Claire and a couple of others had stood by them.
“So tell me why you’re passing Tom Clark along to me instead of keeping him for yourself.” Jordan swiped her sweaty palms down her black jeans. She might be nervous about meeting an interesting new man. But probably not. It was hot in the bar. And maybe the beer had something to do with her sweating, too.
“He’s too young for me,” Theresa said. “And he’s not my type.”
Jordan felt really warm now, all of a sudden. “And you think you know what my type is?”
“Responsible. All-American. Hard working. A little more than mildly successful.” She raised her eyebrows at Jordan. “Am I close?”
She shrugged and looked back toward the bar. The couple was still there, but the two guys had moved on. “What’s so great about him?”
“First of all, he owns this place…Need I go on?” Theresa opened her arms wide.
“Owning a bar is kinda cool.” Jordan nodded, then wagged her head back and forth. “But sorry. Not winning me over totally.”
“This isn’t a simply a bar.” Theresa drew the words out and shouting like a game show host. “It’s a craft beer brewing company!”
“Okay, so Tom Clark is trendy and he gives you free beer.”
“Not even close.” Theresa tipped back her beer, toasting to Mr. Wonderful’s Perfect Future, and set it down hard. “He’s from Nebraska. Moved to San Francisco after college. A dot-com guy. Made a bundle. Says he hates cold, damp weather and hilly streets because he’s a runner. So he took the money and quit. Now he’s in flat Florida to stay.”
She stopped a second and wiggled her eyebrows again. “Assuming he finds the woman of his dreams here.”
Jordan rolled her eyes again and tucked her hair behind her ears with shaking fingers. Could she be nervous? No. Not at all.
“What? What is that eye roll about?” Theresa slapped both palms on the table and leaned forward. “You can be charming, can’t you?” She batted her eyelashes to demonstrate.
Jordan looked down at her outfit. Maybe she should have worn something more feminine than black jeans and a beautiful-shade-of-brown blouse, with a scarf. Should she remove the scarf to reveal her v-neck?
Maybe next time. If she liked the guy at all. “I’ll be myself and if he likes it, great. If he doesn’t, so be it.”
Claire returned from the restroom, climbing back onto the barstool just as the server arrived with six tequila shots. She set them on the table one by one. “Enjoy, ladies.”
Theresa said, “I only ordered three.”
The server nodded toward the bar and said, “Preppy dude with the hair on his chin sent the other three.”
Jordan looked toward the couple still seated at the bar, still deep in conversation. So he was hedging his bets? Thinking Theresa might be interested later or something? Men.
“Tell him thanks, then,” Theresa replied.
“Will do,” the server said before she hustled off.
“What about you, Theresa?” Claire-of-the-social-graces asked, probably trying to get Theresa’s attention off the guy who should be paying attention to his date instead of flirting with Theresa. “Any men in your life?”
Theresa tipped her head back, downed her shot, and plunked the shot glass back on the table, wincing as she swallowed. “I’m a serial long-term seducer.”
Claire laughed in a way that seemed genuinely delighted. “Serial long-term seducer? Is that some kind of weird S&M thing?”
Jordan played with her shot glass. She barely remembered the taste of tequila. Leave it to Claire to remember.
“I get into two- and three-year long flings and freak out and break it off. I dunno.” Theresa shrugged. “I dunno what my problem is. I start out fun and exotic and then I guess I flip some switch and run in search of someone else I can excite. I think I fall in love with falling in love.” She picked at the pulp of a lemon slice on the table. “It’s a bad habit.”
“All right, new rule then,” Jordan said, pushier than she normally was. “For the next two months, you’re not allowed to go on more than two consecutive dates with any one person.”
Theresa crossed her arms. Defensive yet interested. “Y’know what? Fine. Then I get to make a rule for you.” She leaned back, arms still folded. “If Tom Clark asks you out, you have to accept at least one date with him.”
“Yes!” Claire beamed, pushing one of her tequila shots toward Theresa and the other toward Jordan. “But Jordan, like an actual date. Meaning you get dressed up and you be charming and you try.”
Claire turned to Theresa. “You have to spell out all the rules with her. She’s sneaky.”
And that’s what made her a good reporter. “I had enough adventures in Haiti to last at least a few more weeks. Cut me a break, will you?”
“Haiti has nothing to do with dating men. But now that you mention it, how did you end up in Haiti?” Theresa downed Claire’s tequila shot quickly. “You were doing that whole Instant Pop Star story and everyone was insanely jealous you got assigned to that. Then you popped off to a third world country.”
Claire shrugged. “I tried to tell her.” She shook her head repeatedly like a scolding mother. “She should’ve stuck with the TV show.”
Theresa waved her hand for the server. Jordan pushed the extra tequila shot Theresa’s way instead. “Here. Have mine. If I drink two shots, I won’t be able to say my name when Tom Clark gets here.”
Jordan was feeling a slight buzz already. Haiti flooded back. The hair-raising plane ride. The midnight break-in at the Medicine Factory. Scouting locations in Port-au-Prince. The ever-present fear and violence that continued to replay in her nightmares. Nothing she’d share with girlfriends in a bar.
She finally came up with something she could share. “I asked to go to Haiti because it seemed exciting and a chance to do something important. And it was. But not the way I expected.”
Theresa crinkled her brow and tilted her head. “I totally would’ve gone for Instant Pop Star ’cause it’s an easy assignment and getting ratings is what keeps us all employed. But I’m an old weathered news soul. For someone who’s still trying to make a name for herself, unless you want a career in entertainment news, I can see how that wasn’t your best move.”
The server arrived with another round of beers. Theresa looked beyond the bottles, her gaze focusing squarely on Jordan’s face as if she was having trouble focusing. Which she probably was.
“If I had to do it over again though?” Jordan left the tequila on the table, sipped her beer and spoke quietly. “Well, if you ever get a chance to go, know what you’re getting into. I went at the last minute and I might regret that. The nice hotels in the capital of Haiti or whatever? That’s a whole ’nother deal. But the countryside is like,” Jordan shook her head, searching for the right words. “Like, you feel dirty just being there. You have to bathe with a bucket of purified water. Or else you could get cholera from the tainted water. You hold a bar of soap, dip a washcloth in a bucket, and try to rinse the soap off. So
metimes, if you’re lucky, you get most of it. Not to mention, it’s not warm water. I couldn’t wait for a hot shower first thing when I got back. I didn’t get one…but that’s another story.”
“Sounds disgusting.” Theresa rubbed her chin. “I wonder if Drew’s jealous.”
Jordan nearly spit out her drink. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“However miserable the conditions, you were sent abroad for an assignment. That looks pretty good on a resume tape. If he’s not jealous, he should be.” Theresa was drunk, and slurring her words, but she was making sense, too. “Which means you should watch your back. The bosses love him, he has Antonio on his side, and he’s not already worn down by life like you are.”
“Geez, way to boost my spirits,” Jordan said. Theresa was just looking out for her though. She knew that.
“Sorry, I think I’m just antsy for Tom to get here. Where is he?” Theresa rooted through the stuff in one of her bags and found her phone. “He just texted. He should be here in about five minutes.”
Jordan swung her neck to the side instinctively, looking for the mystery man. She’d turned toward the bar just in time to see the dark and vaguely dashing preppy guy who had sent the tequila shots over.
His date wasn’t on the stool next to him anymore, but her drink was still there. He had his phone to his ear. He fidgeted and then glanced over each of his own shoulders.
From across the room, Jordan could barely make out his features. Dark hair strapped his chin. He wore a sport coat. A baseball cap perched on his head. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled something out with pinched fingers.
He looked both ways again before he dropped whatever he’d held into a drink on the bar in front of the empty seat next to him. The drink his date had been nursing.
Jordan turned toward the bathroom door to see his date, the brunette dressed in pink, entering the bathroom.
“Did you see that?” Jordan’s eyes felt like wide open saucers and she whipped her head back and forth to look at her two friends. The movement made her vaguely nauseated. “Did he just do what I think he did?”
She felt her fists clenching and her blood boiling.
And she remembered the tequila shots he’d sent to their table. Theresa already downed one, but the other three shots were still here.
CHAPTER 3
“Don’t touch those tequila shots.” Jordan shouted to be heard over the increasing din at Infidel.
Theresa snapped her head up from her phone messages. “What?”
“The preppy dude at the bar?” Jordan unclenched her jaw and nodded toward him. “Dark blue Boston baseball cap? Totally just roofied his date’s drink.” She felt the air from her nostrils coming warmer and faster.
In the dim blue bar lights and the bill of his hat tilted downward, half his face was shadowed.
Jordan had one leg off the stool when Theresa grabbed her right arm. “No you are not going over there. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“His date is the one who doesn’t know what she’s dealing with. He roofied her drink.” Jordan pulled hard to free her arm. “I’m not gonna let that go.”
Theresa maintained her grip. “I’m not either. We’re gonna help her.”
Jordan jerked her head toward Claire, hoping her best friend would step up to help. The bar was now so crowded that her sight line to the guy had closed.
“Hang on, Jordan, let’s think for just a second.” Claire put one hand out as if she was holding a vicious dog at bay. She laid the other hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “We don’t want to scare him away. She’s not there right now. We have a minute. Let’s think.”
“You know where this is going.” Jordan sucked deep intentional breaths. She still felt wobbly from the beer and the near-miss on the tequila shot. “Why the hell would I not confront him right now? The date’s gonna come back from the bathroom and get drugged and assaulted.”
Theresa loosened her grip on Jordan’s arm to a light touch. “Question is, do we warn the girl or confront the guy?”
“Or call the brewery owner. Tom Clark,” Claire said. “Or call the cops.”
“He’ll get away before the cops arrive.” Theresa grimaced and shook her head. “Tom’s not here right now to fix the problem anyway.”
“Screw it.” Jordan yanked her arm away. “I’m going to confront him.”
Theresa stood unsteady on her feet. “Then I’m coming with you.”
But when they turned toward the bar again, he was gone.
“I’ll run to the bathroom and tell the girl. She was wearing pink, right?” Claire jumped off her stool and jogged to the restroom.
“What the hell,” Theresa said. “Do you think he’s in the bathroom or did he disappear?”
Jordan narrowed her vision toward the spot where he’d been seated. “His drink is gone and so is hers. I think he got spooked and left. And he took the evidence, too. Stay here in case I’m wrong.”
Jordan ran to the front door and out into the jammed parking lot. She whipped her head around. No cars were starting up or pulling out. She ran down the first aisle. All the vehicles were dark. She rounded the corner and lost her footing on the gravel and fell forward. She put both hands out to avoid applying her nose to the pavement.
When she hit the ground, her palms landed flat and she dipped her shoulder and rolled to the right. She laid on her back for a couple of seconds to catch her breath.
Nothing felt broken or scraped. No bleeding. She slowly pushed herself onto her feet and dusted off as well as possible. The heels of her hands were pockmarked with gravel. Otherwise, she was okay.
Breathing hard, she walked carefully around the remaining cars in the lot. She looked everywhere. Preppy dude had disappeared. Nothing more she could do out here so she headed back to the entrance wondering what had spooked him and made him run.
CHAPTER 4
Back at the table, the tequila shots were gone, too. Theresa said, “I don’t know where they went. I didn’t drink them.”
Claire’s face pinched into a frown. “You’ve got dirt all over your clothes. Did he hurt you? Did you have a fight with him?”
Jordan told Claire and Theresa what happened outside. “I’m going to wash my hands and try to get some of this grime off my clothes.”
Before Jordan took two steps, Theresa looked toward the entrance to the brewery and gasped. “That’s him.” She nodded in the direction of the door.
Jordan’s pulse quickened. She stared harder, trying to find him.
There were plenty of people between Jordan and the door, but the preppy dude wasn’t one of them. He’d been wearing a sport coat and a baseball cap. Nope. Not there.
“That’s not him. He’s taller. Boston fan.”
Theresa gestured toward a shorter man. “I mean that’s Tom Clark. He’s here.”
Jordan stopped scanning the room and blinked to focus. “I thought you said Tom had blonde hair?”
Theresa shrugged. “Blonder than yours.”
Jordan winced. “What else did you embellish about the guy?”
Tom Clark hadn’t made it three steps into the room before he started high-fiving guys at the first table. He carried himself like a politician, straight, friendly, constantly smiling, like he needed every vote in the room.
His whole entrance turned Jordan off completely.
Jordan was secretly prepared to—maybe—follow through and consider accepting a potential offer to go on a date with Theresa’s friend. But that guy? High fiving ten people the second he walked in the door like a prom king? Nah. She was done dating cocky, pompous, social climbers like her ex. Popularity wasn’t a plus as far as Jordan was concerned.
“Found the girl.” Claire resumed her seat at the table. “She didn’t even know the guy. He was some random dude hitting on her. She said he got a call from his boss and that’s when she went to the bathroom. She thanked me. Us.”
Jordan went to the bathroom and washed the dirt off her hand
s. She adjusted her clothes as well as possible and plumped up her hair a little and applied a fresh dab of lip gloss. Not to impress Tom Clark. Because she looked a mess after her fall in the parking lot.
On the way back to their table, she stopped at the bar. Eventually, the bartender asked, “What’ll you have?”
“Did you know that preppy looking guy sitting here a while ago?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. We’ve been slammed tonight. Want a drink?”
She declined and he moved on down the bar to the next customer.
When she returned to her friends, she hopped onto the stool and sipped her beer and let the nutty, apricot-infused flavor soothe her. Crisis averted. Nothing more she could do about it now. She’d try to relax and enjoy the beer.
Claire was driving tonight. Now she just had to worry about how to ditch this setup situation with Mr. Everybody Loves Me before he reached their table. Not long after that, she could persuade Claire to take her home.
“Jordan? Stop thinking. Let go and enjoy the moment. You’re here with friends. Okay?” Claire smiled and reached for the bottle of sparkling water she would sip all night. “To single ladies.”
All three raised their bottles. “To single ladies.”
Jordan got a better look at Tom now that he stood two tables closer. Twenty-five? Really? Pudgy cheeks and a baby face made him look younger. Rolled-up sleeves and casual khakis made him seem too young to own a business, too.
Theresa’s type was probably a lot more like Theresa: tall, exotic, and a little mystical.
Jordan’s type was none of the above. But the whole popularity seeking thing. Ugh. She rubbed her forearm and tried to focus her thoughts. She needed a good excuse to reject any flirting. Just because you own a brewing company, Mr. Clark, does not mean you get any woman in the room.
“Hey,” Claire whispered and nudged Jordan playfully. “Stop thinking.”
